Nelson.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt.
“I just came back from the shore,” Aaron explains. “I had family stuff all weekend, which is why I couldn’t call. So I thought I’d stop by and say hello in person. Hello.”
“Hi.”
Aaron comes toward me. “How was your weekend?”
“Fine.”
“What did you do?” Aaron asks.
“Do? Well, I worked. Of course.”
“All weekend?”
“Yes. All weekend.”
“Well, that’s no good.” Aaron puts his hands on my shoulders. “We have to get you some fun. Maybe we can get together one night this week?”
“Yes. Sure. Absolutely.”
“Okay. I’ll call you.” Aaron leans forward and gently kisses me. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
Aaron turns. “Nice to meet you both.”
“You, too,” Grammy says, and Nelson nods.
When Aaron leaves the kitchen, Nelson says, “What’s that all about? You didn’t work all weekend. We were closed half of it.”
Instead of answering, I open a newspaper. When I glance up at Grammy, she meets my gaze. Here comes a parable. But no. Grammy simply raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. She doesn’t know what’s going on, but she disapproves of it all the same. So do I.
On a slow Tuesday night, Fly Girl, Christopher von Hecht, and Bette decide to question me about my love life. I welcome the scrutiny, because I feel badly about seeing both Joe and Aaron. It feels as though I’m cheating on both of them, although I haven’t made a commitment to either.
“You went out with both of them,” Bette says.
“Right.”
“You didn’t have sex with Joe or Aaron,” Fly Girl says.
“Right.”
Bette shrugs. “Then, no. I don’t think you are doing anything wrong.”
“Good.” I put both hands around my coffee mug and lean back in my chair. “Then why does it feel like I’m cheating?”
“If you feel like that, then pick one,” Bette says.
“I vote for Aaron,” Christopher shouts.
“You don’t get a vote, Chrissie. But I should pick Aaron. He’s easy to get along with. Joe is sort of prickly. Aaron is clearly interested in a long-term relationship. I think Joe just wants a fling. Joe might be watermelon. Good only in the summer. Aaron is like a potato. Good all year round. But when I’m with Joe, I turn into a big puddle of ish.”
Fly Girl pops gum she’s not supposed to be chewing. “I think you should keep dating both of them and see what happens. What’s the rush to choose? You have time, Mimi.”
“Not so much. I want to have kids and I’m not getting any younger.”
“But you don’t want to rush and make a bad decision,” Bette says.
“Right. Because I did that already. Doing it again would be embarrassing.”
Allison calls. “I invited Sid and Mom to dinner at my house this weekend. To meet the family.”
“Have fun.”
“You’re coming,” Allison says in her mommy voice.
“I already met Sid. And anyway, I have to work.”
“Oh, no, Mimi. You can’t hide at the restaurant. You are coming. It’s a family dinner. You’re in the family, right?”
“For now. Did Mom ask you to do this?”
“No,” Allison says. “I think it’s a nice thing to do. To introduce Sid properly. Make him feel welcome.”
I think of how Allison was introduced to our family. Not so properly. Maybe she wants to be the hostess because she sympathizes with Sid’s newcomer status. But we knew Allison was staying in the Louis family when we met her. She was seeking permanent residency. Sid’s on a temporary visa. Which, I guess, is all the more reason not to overreact.
“And anyway,” Allison continues, “you and Jeremy need to stop this childish behavior. Maybe if you get to know Sid, you’ll like him.”
“Fine, Ally. I’ll be there.”
Jeez. I didn’t know being a good daughter would be so difficult.
Promenade
The afternoon before the family dinner, Aaron asks me to help him buy a birthday present for his sister. He picks me up at the restaurant and we drive to the Promenade, a shopping center that the Scheins didn’t build. We browse the ladies of Lily Pulitzer, J. Jill, and Ann Taylor. Finally Aaron buys the newest Coach handbag.
“There’s a Sur la Table if you want to look at cookware,” Aaron says. We go into the store and I get a contact high from the Le Creuset pots and pans.
“There’s a kitchen back there,” Aaron says, and we walk to the back of the store.
“I guess they do cooking demonstrations here,” I say.
“Look,” Aaron says. “Here’s the poster announcing the next one.”
Smiling from the poster, looking tall and trim in his chef whites, is Nick.
“For the love of Emeril,” I mutter.
The ghost of boyfriend